The fire has been extinguished. All is calm.
Now that flames no longer lick at the windows
it is apparent that nothing was damaged -
everything is still there: untouched but too hot to touch.
It will all cool down eventually.
From ashes are borne pheonix,
strong and proud and free.
This doesn't happen overnight.
Until then the butterflies are still there,
floating free on the breeze.
Without the raging fire as a distraction
it is easier to notice that they always stay in sight of each other,
never wandering too far from the other,
always within earshot.
The moon speaks, but only with a whisper.
In time his voice may return,
growing louder with each passing day, week, month.
Until then there is the current of the ocean
to serve as a reminder that the beat of a heart
is all that is needed to know that one is still alive.
